Of Airships&Flying Circuses
by talcumpowder
Summary: As far as Chad is concerned, there are four smart people on the face of the Earth: himself, Taylor, Gabriella and maybe Kelsi. Everyone else? Complete dumbasses. Chyan.


**Pre-Notes:** For roseclaw, who requested steampunk!HSM. I think I mostly failed on that account but hey. I tried. AT LEAST IT'S REALLY LONG, RIGHT?**  
Disclaimer:** I have these cute HSM sunglasses, but I still don't own it.**  
Summary:** As far as Chad is concerned, there are four smart people on the face of the Earth: himself, Taylor, Gabriella and (maybe) Kelsi. Everyone else? Complete dumbasses.

* * *

**Of Airships&Flying Circuses**  
Or: _How the S.S. Brownball Picked Up One Ryan Evans and the Adventures Thereafter_

Theoretically, the story starts when Jason—from way up on the crow's nest—says that there's a small aircraft coming towards them and it's losing altitude quickly. Troy says the story starts there. Zeke says the story starts there. Jimmie says the story starts there. Donny says the story starts there.

Chad says the story starts when they rescued that aircraft (more of a airskimmer, really) and a slim, unnecessarily well-dressed, blue-eyed blond tumbled out of the little flying machine and collapsed onto the deck. No one listens to him now, just like one one listens to him then.

"Guys," Chad says quietly, "I have a bad feeling about this."  
Troy slaps him on the back, "No worries. We'll be in the Orient soon—you can go see Taylor and we'll just drop the guy off at a medcenter. Zeke! Take him below-deck and set him up in the girl's cabin."

The thing that everyone conveniently forgets is that, from that very first moment, Chad was right and everyone else was wrong. Incredibly and awfully wrong.

* * *

There isn't much that can be said about the airship the Wildcats occupy. It's a kind of old and rickety thing that needs frequent repairs—always done by Taylor and Gabriella back home in the Orient, because none of the other Wildcats can sew to save their lives and none of them really want to learn. That, they say, is a woman's skill and it should stay that way.

The aircraft is one of the first generation kind—large balloons filled with gas to lift the thing into the air—and not the newer, sleeker kind propelled by airlift or whatever it was. Chad had heard of something called an "aeroplane" that was supposedly going to replace airships, but he had yet to see one and liked to believe that things didn't exist if you never saw them. He was doing an excellent job of pretending that the hauntingly pretty person they picked up earlier didn't exist when, as if Chad had called his name, he appeared squarely in Chad's line of sight.

"Excuse me," Prettyboy says, "I was wondering to whom I owe my gratitude for saving me?"  
"_What_?"  
Prettyboy rolls his eyes, "Who should I thank for saving me?"  
Chad isn't entirely sure if his momentary brain lapse has more to do with the fact that Prettyboy's voice is just a little bit mesmerizing or that he sounds like one of those well-groomed, aristocratic gentlemen—which he could very well be, for all Chad knew. He still had a very bad idea about the whole thing.  
"Oh," Chad says, "probably Jason. He spotted your airskimmer."  
"Ah," Prettyboy nods, "who is Jason?"  
"He's up in the crow's nest right now and you can—hey!"

Prettyboy located the mast and—without putting any protective gear on!—started scrambling up it like some kind of . . . Spider-monkey. And even as Chad was fearing for his safety, something told him that Prettyboy didn't really consider this a challenge and he was in no real danger. But it's Chad's job to worry, so he worries. No one else bothers to on the ship.

"You're going to hurt yourself, get back down here!"  
Prettyboy _laughs_, "This is nothing! I will be down in a minute."

True to his word, Prettyboy comes down after a minute or so, eyes bright and mischievous in the way that Taylor's often are when she's decided that the crew needs new equipment. Chad breathes a small sigh of relief that Prettyboy has managed to not kill himself and stops worrying. For the moment, anyway, because Chad is always alternately worrying or yelling at someone he's worried about. Or, as is the case right now, taking a break and praying that he can rest for five minutes without someone on the S.S. Brownball doing something _completely_ stupid.

Prettyboy invades Chad's personal space, "I am _famished_. Would there happen to be a mess hall of sorts on this ship?"

Chad doesn't understand half of what Prettyboy has just said, but he understands _mess hall_, so he puts down the map he's been studying and stands up. Prettyboy is still all bright eyes and mischievousness, but he patiently waits for Chad to start walking.

"So," Chad says as they walk, "tell me about yourself."

Prettyboy taps a finger to his lips and thinks. Chad notes—in passing, because he pays attention to details—that Prettyboy's fingers are calloused and kind of rough, which is not at all something he would have expected. After a moment, Prettyboy talks.

"My name is Ryan Evans and I'm the Cockatoo of the Flying Circus. Regardless of what you may have heard, no one sees our show for my sister—Sharpay—they all come to see _me_. Is there something else you'd like to know?"  
"Wait," Chad stops walking and turns to look at Prettyboy—Ryan, he corrects himself—with a little bit of a disbelieving expression, "_you're_ the Cockatoo of the Flying Circus?"  
"Yes," Ryan says curtly, "is there a _problem_?"  
"I just," Chad gropes for words, "What were you doing in an airskimmer headed toward the Orient then?"  
"I would rather not discuss that."

The way Ryan's voice goes cold and icy is enough for Chad to take the hint and keep walking. Unlike Troy, Chad can take a hint. He's not a colossal dumbass and he doesn't spend all of his time pining over Gabriella. No, instead Chad spends his time making sure the S.S. Brownball runs smoothly because Troy is really too incompetent to do it himself.

Chad lets out a long sigh and turns into the kitchen, where Zeke is cooking. If the absolute mayhem that has been spewed all over the kitchen indication at all, Chad suspects that Zeke has been trying to perfect his crème brulee again. Chad clears his throat—just loud enough for Zeke to hear over his low muttering about the proper sugar-to-torch ratio. Zeke turns around, a little surprised and coated in sugar.

"What—huh—oh it's just you, Chad. What's up? Here for a snack? I just started a new batch of hand pies so if you'll wait ten minutes they'll be—"  
Chad holds up a hand, "Zeke. Dude, chill. The guy we picked up just wants some grub."  
"Oh," Zeke brightens up, "what would you like? I've got stew over on the stove and there's hand pies in the oven but they won't be ready for a bit but the new batch of cookies is still hot and cooling if you want something to munch on while you wait and—oh! I almost forgot that we just picked up that new keg of mead so there's drinks to go 'round and I set Jimmie to work peeling some potatoes so those should go on in a bit but they won't be ready for a while . . . And there's hardtack, but I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind would eat that given the variety of food that I dish up on the S.S. Brownball—the hardtack is mostly for when the crew gets hung over. So, what will you have?"

Ryan blinks and just stares at Zeke for a long moment. It's a reaction that Chad understands well, because the first time Zeke gets excited about feeding you can be a bit overwhelming. Fortunately, Ryan recovers quickly and his dumbfounded expression is replaced by a smile.

"Well! I certainly won't be having hardtack, then. I think I'll opt for a bit of stew and a hand pie when they're done, if that's not too much trouble?"

Because he's pretty much used to this, Chad tunes out the rest of Zeke's talking and goes over to the stove where the pot of stew is bubbling gently. Surveying it for a moment and making sure it isn't overcooked yet, Cad sighs and ladles out a bowl for himself and a bowl for Ryan before walking back over to the table Ryan has seated himself at and placing the bowl of soup in front of Ryan.

"Here. Zeke won't remember to do it for you," Chad explains.

* * *

The longer Ryan stays on the S.S. Brownball, the more Chad becomes convinced that it was a bad idea to let him on the ship at all. His bad feelings about the whole situation have very little to do with Ryan himself, although Ryan is annoyingly reckless and agile—which is something that causes Chad to worry. No, Chad's bad feelings have almost nothing to do with Ryan and almost everything to do with the weird readings that the scanners have been giving out and the nagging sensation that something is_ following_ them.

Troy is starting to worry a little about the way Chad is obsessively telling Jason to keep an extra-sharp eye out for bad things and checking the readings even more frequently than usual—which means about four times more than he ever needs to.

Ryan is oblivious to all of this. He climbs all over the ship without a harness and swings from the ropes like some kind of money—or a pirate in a treasure trove. He seems infinitely happy just swinging around aimlessly and annoying the ever-loving shit out of Chad and the longer he stays on the ship, the more in-tune he becomes with the crew. Without anyone's permission—though Chad has the sneaking suspicion that Ryan believes he doesn't need permission for anything—Ryan starts helping out. He peels potatoes for Zeke when Jimmie is falling asleep and complains too much. He keeps Jason company in the crow's nest when nothing seems to be happening and Jason seems like he might fall asleep. He scrubs the portholes when Chad has been yelling at Donny a little too much and Donny is dejected, like no one on the S.S. Brownball likes him. He politely taps Troy on the shoulder when he spaces out thinking about Gabriella. And, worst of all, he fills in the readings chart with his clean, perfect handwriting.

It makes Chad want to punch him for no real reason. There is something afoot and he knows that Ryan is at the heart of it. Ryan is running away from something—hiding something—that is very likely to get them all killed. And he's being nice to them beforehand.

That's like adding insult to injury in Chad's book, so while Ryan charms his way into everyone's good graces, Chad gives him the cold shoulder and tries not to think about the obvious disappointment in Ryan's eyes whenever Chad doesn't respond.

* * *

"No! Let go of me!"

It's some ungodly hour of night and Chad sits up, half-aware that Ryan is screeching and there is a scuffle going on outside. And then Ryan lets out a godawful scream and Chad is grabbing his pistol and running out the door.

On deck, Troy is already fighting two large men off because he's a dumbass and his ray gun is probably back in his room. Wildly, Chad looks around for Ryan—he's lying on the floor with his eyes screwed shut and a hand pressed to his shoulder. Chad doesn't have time to think about that. He charges ahead, helping Troy against the men. Zeke is in his peripheral vision, talking smoothly to Ryan while he ties a clean bandage around the shoulder because Zeke is trained as a medic too even though Gabriella is the best medic they know. But she's not there and Chad is cocking his gun into place and aiming.

_Bang_. Chad never misses, but people move and so the shot to the guy's kneecap is probably a little more damaging than it was supposed to be. Oh well, it's not really his fault—the point is that the guy is incapacitated and Chad can now kick him in the stomach and demand to know what they're doing on the ship because Troy is really just not intimidating enough to interrogate people.

"Who do you work for? Tell me!"  
The man spits, "Never."  
"I will shoot you dead, dude. Tell me because I really hate killing people."  
"A pirate who's afraid of killing? Ha—"

Chad kicks the guy in the stomach because he's getting annoying. He's about to kick him again when, suddenly, Ryan is there and taking the pistol from his hand without permission. Without blinking an eye, Ryan cocks it and points it at the man.

"You will tell me who you work for and what you want with me and you will do it now or I am going to blast your brains out. Do not fuck with me, I'm an acrobat. I fear nothing. Besides, it would be a pity to stain the deck with your blood."

Everyone on the ship sort of freezes. Troy had been tying up his guy, but he wasn't doing anything other than staring slack-jawed at Ryan. Chad is reminded of the way that Ryan's voice goes cold and awful the second he doesn't want to talk about something—except this is worse. There is nothing behind Ryan's voice besides cold, calculating intelligence and even the man lying on the floor realizes that it is probably a very bad idea to disobey Ryan. He laughs, it's bitter and just a little crazy.

"Go ahead, your sister will kill me anyway for not bringing you back."  
Ryan laughs, "No. I'm going to let you live so you can tell my sister that she can do better. Troy? Chad? Do me a favor and put these two back on their ship. They've got a message to deliver for me."  
Without much more fanfare, Ryan hands the gun back to Chad and walks below-deck to where his room is. It takes Chad a second before he realizes that Ryan just asked him to do something. The gun is aimed at the guy again and Chad sighs.  
"Zeke, pick the guy up and put him back in his airskimmer."

They put the guys back in their aimskimmer and send them off because Ryan asked them to and because everyone has the distinct feeling that they won't be trying to attack the S.S. Brownball again. There's also the distinct feeling that this is not an isolated incident, but it's still and ungodly hour of night and they're still sleepy, so that's what they do. They go back to sleep.

* * *

"What was that all about last night?"

Chad asks Ryan this when they're both awake again and Ryan is in the kitchen eating breakfast because Ryan rarely moves while he eats. It has something to do with a delicate conscience, but Chad doesn't really care too much (even though it's usually annoying) because it means Ryan is sitting in one place and can't avoid his question by climbing up the mast.

Ryan frowns and swallows his mouthful of stew before responding, "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
Chad frowns too, "Ryan. Ryan, stop moving around like a freaked out bird."

In the short span of time that Chad has known Ryan, Chad has learned one thing. They didn't name Ryan "Cockatoo" for nothing. He was very much bird-like and sometimes (usually when he thought no one was looking) he flew through the air, crossing the spaces between ropes like they didn't exist at all. Ryan even groomed himself like a bird—he was constantly smoothing his hair and clothes in an effort to maintain that haughty elegance he once had in worn-out clothes borrowed from Chad. Ryan fixes Chad with a completely unreadable look.

"That's exactly what I am, Chad. A freaked out bird."

Before Chad has a real chance to process what Ryan has just said, Ryan is putting his bowl next to all the other dirty dishes and walking out on deck. Chad scrambles to follow him, tripping over himself just a little.

"Ryan. Ryan, you ass, answer my damn question!"

Ryan climbs up the mast, unapologetically ignoring Chad.

* * *

One would think that after picking up Ryan, the crew of the S.S. Brownball would listen to Chad and not pick up any more strange people riding in shitty airskimmers. But they're all pretty much dumbasses and Chad knows this, so he's really not all that surprised when they pick up a teeny-tiny little girl with weird facial markings and sparkly makeup wearing clothing as elegant as Ryan's. Instead, Chad sighs and waits for the girl to stop coughing before he asks her a question.

"You're from the Flying Circus, aren't you?"

The girl bites her lip and nods. Chad can tell she's completely freaked out, so he puts on his friendliest face and holds out a hand to her.

"C'mon. Ryan's down in the kitchens."

For a few seconds, the girl just looks at Chad before she picks herself up and dusts her clothes off. Then, she looks at Chad expectantly. He chalks it up to her being a circus freak and leads her to where Ryan is. Ryan promptly freaks out when he sees her.

"Kelsi! Kelsi, darling, what are you doing here? This is bad. You should be with the Circus, not here."  
"Ryan," Kelsi says softly, "you need to come back. You're only putting these people in danger."  
"I can't—you know that. It's oppressive and suffocating and I don't like being told what to do."  
"That's the the _point_," Kelsi pokes Ryan in the chest, "the point is that you are involving innocent people in your family's little temper tantrum and that's unfair to them as much as it was unfair to those pirates Sharpay hired."  
"I'm not endangering them. I can handle myself, Kelsi. Go back to the circus and keep her busy. She'll forget I existed in a couple weeks."  
"Ryan! This is not some kind of game," Kelsi screams, which is louder than Chad had thought she could be, "this is _real_. Sharpay is upset and you know how she is when she's upset. The whole circus is in an uproar! Darbus sent me out to find you because Sharpay is completely uncontrollable. _Please_, Ryan. You can come back with me and it'll—"  
"Excuse me," Chad says suddenly, "but what exactly is going on here?"

Both Kelsi and Ryan turn to look at Chad and both look equally surprised at his presence. Sometimes, Chad wonders if he's the only smart person in the entire universe besides Taylor and Gabriella. This is one of those times, and his answer is leaning toward _yes_ at the moment. In the awkward silence, Chad notes that Kelsi is wringing her hands and looking nervously at Ryan. Ryan isn't even noticing her, he's looking at the stew pot—which is nowhere near Chad.

"This is none of your business, Chad."  
Kelsi gives Ryan a look of horror, " But Ryan—"  
"As you said, I'm getting needless people involved. Kelsi, if you'll take me to your—"  
"God," Chad throws up his hands in frustration, "how much of an ass can you _be_? We've been keeping you on this ship for close to a week, I think we deserve some goddamn explanation at least."  
"Even if it endangers you?"  
"Ryan, I think you lost that bargaining chip when we saved you from being kidnapped in the middle of the night by cheap pirates."

There is a long silence, during which Ryan and Chad stare at each other with fists clenched in some kind of juvenile face-off. And then Jimmie walks into the room.

"Hey, Chad, my man! Ryan! Are you—whoa. Hey, pretty lass, what's your name? You are one fine piece of craftsmanship."  
Kelsi gives him a look halfway between disgusted and startled, "I don't tell my name to powder monkeys."  
"Don't be like that! My name's Jimmie."  
"It's nice to meet you, Jimmie, but I really don't—"  
"Dude," Chad sighs, "she doesn't want to tell you. What have I told you about how to talk to girls?"  
"Uh. Not to be forward and to always be polite."  
"If you remember, then why do you never take my advice?"  
"Hey! I got my own way with the ladies. They line up to get a piece of Jimmie Zara."  
Ryan clears his throat, "While I would really like to stand here and watch this awkward conversation progress further, the machinery needs to be checked about now. We should see to that—shouldn't we, Chad?"

Ignoring Jimmie for a few moments, Chad looks over to Ryan who's talking to Kelsi and engaging her in a Jimmie-free conversation.

"Yeah. We should go check on that. Bring your friend along, Ryan. Girls love looking at that kind of stuff."

Chad doesn't mention that having girls on a ship is bad and that it's probably not a good idea to have her anywhere on the ship at all, because only Chad and Taylor believe in that kind of thing even though there has been tons of evidence to back up their claim.

The machinery room is full of complicated dials and read-outs that only make sense to some people. Previously, Chad had been the only one who understood how to make sense of anything in the room, but one day Ryan had followed him inside the room and had watched him in that fluttering, barely-there way he had perfected and after that, he had started checking the machinery whenever he felt like it. He said it was almost as much fun as climbing up a mast.

Kelsi is regarding the room with the fascination that Ryan does and before Chad can react, she's running her hands along dials as if she's looking for something. Chad is about to say something, but Ryan holds up a hand to stop him. Kelsi is reading the dials carefully and turning dials—nothing bad seems to be happening, so Chad just watches. After a minutes or so, Kelsi steps away from the dials and looks back at Chad before looking down at the floor.

"Sorry. I adjusted your air pressure and the ventilation."  
Ryan tries to hide a laugh before he responds, "Kelsi is the reason the Flying Circus stays flying. Did you think I learned everything by watching you that one time I followed you in?  
"No," Chad sighs, "but I've given up on ever trying to understand you. I have to log everything and then you can explain everything to me."  
"Let me do it," Kelsi says quietly, "as an apology for fixing things without asking. Besides, I get the feeling that Ryan has a lot of explaining to do."

There is some sort of unspoken communication between Kelsi and Ryan. It seems kind of angry, so Chad doesn't interrupt except to tell Kelsi that yeah, sure she can log everything. When Kelsi finishes bitching out Ryan telepathically or whatever she had been doing, Ryan turns to Chad. His fingers are drumming out a melody on his thigh and Chad tries not to notice. It's not like _now_ the reason Chad tears his hair out over Ryan's stupid antics is because he kind of loves him in the same way he loves Troy—which is not quite brotherly. Taylor knows this and she doesn't actually care that much because she has her eye on a mechanic who works for their shop sometimes. Chad is okay with that—in his opinion, the guy is a decent guy and besides, he's a guy who knows that if he does so much as talk to Taylor in the wrong tone of voice then he's got the crew of the S.S Brownball on his ass faster than he can say sorry. Chad especially, because Taylor is like the sister he never had and he doesn't like seeing her upset. She can take care of herself, because everyone on the crew of the S.S. Brownball can but a lot of their actual strength comes from being able to support each other. It's part of what makes the Wildcats a ship crew and not a pirate crew.

Ryan clears his throat, "If you're done staring at me, I'd like to tell you what, exactly, I've gotten your crew into."  
"Oh. Yeah. Go right ahead."

* * *

As it turns out, Ryan is in more trouble than even Kelsi could comprehend. It's the level of trouble that makes Chad want to bang his head on the table or shake Ryan and ask how on Earth he could ever be so _stupid_. First of all, Chad fails to understand how sleeping with anyone you met offship in a bar—especially a tattooed one—is a good idea. Then he fails to understand how not telling anyone that a one night stand is stalking you is a good idea. In addition to that, he fails to see how running away when the stalker threatens to kill your family is a good idea. And finally, Chad just totally fails to understand how arguing with your overprotective sister before you run away is a good idea.

It's like Ryan abandoned all pretense of being a smart person and left his brain in a icebox somewhere. Chad rubs his temples and tries to assimilate this level of newfound, Troy-level stupidity with the somewhat idealistic image he has of Ryan. Kelsi seems to be doing the same thing, although Chad has a sneaking suspicion that she's much less surprised at this string of stupid than Chad is. She sighs and pulls something that looks a lot like a tuning fork from her pocket and smacks Ryan on the head with it.

Ryan yelps, "What was that for?"  
Kelsi is peering at the fork, "I'm checking if you still have a brain . . . And unfortunately, you do so there isn't anything to explain your complete lack of sense. You know that Sharpay could have taken care of herself."  
"I didn't want to take any chances."  
"While I appreciate the sentiment," Kelsi says with a sigh, "I think you chose just about the worst possible way to express it."

Mentally, Chad adds Kelsi onto his list of "smart people in this crazy world." She reminds him just a little bit of Taylor and that makes this whole situation just a little bit more bearable. Chad kind of wishes Taylor were on the ship (even though it's bad luck) because she would have known exactly what to do. Chad just cradles his head in his hands for a second and takes deep breath in before releasing it slowly. It makes him feel better and he's ready to face the situation again.

"Since you got us involved by tumbling out of your airskimmer and onto the S.S. Brownball, we're going to help you out. We're about four hours from the Orient and that," here Chad points at Ryan's shoulder, "needs to go to Gabriella for medcare when we land, but after she's done patching you up the Wildcats are going to sit down with you two and map out a plan of attack."

* * *

Gabriella is not happy to see that in three weeks away, the crew of the S.S Brownball has managed to bang themselves up and acquired two passengers—including one that's injured. She gives Troy the frown that says Gabriella is going to talk to him about this later while she opens up her medkit and starts fussing over Ryan. Taylor gives Chad a frown that says she is going to drag him into the back room and squeeze every last little detail of what went so horribly wrong on a routine run to Lava Springs out of him and then she's going to hang him out to dry.

Which she does.

* * *

"Honestly, Chad. Can't you keep Troy out of trouble for one run? Just one run, that's all I'm asking for!"  
"Taylor," Chad whines, "you know what a crazy task that is. If he's not going gooey-eyed over Gabriella, then he's being too nice to someone and letting them on the ship. I _tried_ to tell them it was a bad idea."  
"Just. Just go call everyone into the mess hall, Chad. We are going to deal with this _now_."

Chad knows a good exit when he sees one, so he scrambles out of the back room and into the hangar where he herds everyone into the mess hall. There's food already set out and it's still mostly warm, so everyone fills up their plates and eats like they haven't eaten in three days (despite having had a hearty, Zeke-cooked breakfast). Taylor and Gabriella come in after several minutes with Ryan, who looks like he's just had his first Taylor and Gabriella lecture. Chad sympathizes with Ryan, Taylor and Gabriella can cut anyone down twelve or twenty notches while still being perfectly polite and not even raising their voices.

Kelsi raises an eyebrow at Ryan, but he mostly ignores her and puts some food on his plate. Taylor walks to the head of the table and clears her throat, which is a sound that everyone on the crew of the S.S. Brownball is afraid of. They all stop moving and try to breathe as little as possible, lest it upset Taylor.

"Each and every one of you," Taylor begins, "is at least partly responsible for the mess we now have on our hands. And because each and every one of you is equally responsible, you're all going to help clean up this mess. Isn't that right, Gabriella?"  
Gabriella nods, "Completely, Taylor. Now, the situation here is very simple: you picked up two runaway airskimmers and, by the Wildcat Code, brought them into the Wildcat family temporarily. One of the people you picked up, Ryan, is in a little bit of trouble. Aren't you, Ryan?"

Ryan mumbles something that may be a _yes_ or a death threat. It's a little hard to tell.

"See? So, under the Wildcat Code, we are obligated to help out any Wildcat in need—be the temporary or not—with any problems they might have, however small. This problem isn't really very small though."  
"No," Taylor cuts in, "it's not. You see, Ryan is being chased by a no-good pirate. It's going to be our job to take out this pirate and return both Ryan and Kelsi safely to the Flying Circus. Any questions so far?"

Jason raises his hand and Taylor makes a hand motion telling him to ask his question.

"So," Jason says, "what's the plan of attack?"  
"I'm glad you asked, Jason, because that was exactly the thing we were going to cover next."

* * *

Chad isn't sure exactly how the plan will work, but both Taylor and Gabriella assure him it'll work and they're the only people Chad truly trusts in the world, so he listens to them but he still worries. The plan is risky, and it involves Ryan acting as bait. It is for this reason alone that Chad checks just about every component of the plan eight or nine times until Kelsi finally smacks him on the head with her little tuning fork and peers at it before pronouncing him insane with a little smile.

It's then that Chad stops worrying so much and just prays to everyone (including Michael Crawford) that everything goes right and no one gets hurt.

* * *

"Okay," Ryan says, though his voice is crackly over the intercom that Taylor has rigged up, "I'm here."  
"Fantastic," another voice, one Chad doesn't recognize but hates already, says, "I'm glad you came."  
"Just don't hurt my sister and I'm all yours."

There's a cruel, cruel laugh and Chad's fingernails are making crescent indentations in his palms. Kelsi put a hand on his shoulder and he stops. The pain keeps him focused and he waits for the signal word.

"What's so funny?"  
"Nothing. You're just one naïve little songbird, ain't you?"  
"I'm afraid not. You're the naïve one in this _uncanny_ situation."

Kelsi taps Chad on the shoulder and he nods before she disappears. From the window he's at, Chad can see the Wildcats (plus Kelsi and Ryan) surround the guy that Chad wants nothing more to blow the brains out of. There are nine weapons at the ready—and none of them are actually the same. Gabriella has her bullwhip uncoiled and dangling innocently from her fingers. Kelsi holds a modified phonograph that is attached to a small box—she says it shoots sounds, but Chad isn't sure how that works. Taylor has her crossbow aimed straight at the guy's heart. Jimmie has his disrupter gun aimed at the ready—waiting for a potential weapon to be disrupted. Zeke has throwing knives in his hands and ready. Donny's weapon isn't drawn—he has no need to draw it, because his electric blasts only require the flip of a switch. Jason's hands rest on twin pistols. Troy has his trusty ray gun—the one that disorients a person and wipes their memory of everything. And Ryan has a hat equipped with hidden razor blades twirling on his index finger.

It's a eclectic group of weapons, but Chad knows it's not one to be underestimated. There's a moment where he considers adding his pistol to the mix, but it seems unnecessary. He's only there as a last-ditch safety guard and Chad has faith in his team. And, by the looks of it, the guy knows that he's probably outnumbered.

"You should leave our friend alone," Troy suggests gently, "because you'll probably end up a little worse than dead if you don't."  
"I think you're all bluffing. There wouldn't need to be so many of you if you could actually take me one."  
"Under certain circumstances," Ryan says smoothly, "there would. This is one of them."

Without any warning, Ryan flicks his wrist twice and sends the hat flying past the guy's shoulder, leaving a trail of deep scratches. The hat flies back—almost as if by magic—and into Ryan's hands. It cuts the scratches deeper on its return, just to add insult to injury. The guy steps toward Ryan, face contorted with anger, but Kelsi steps between the two, her phonograph-gun pointed carefully at the guy.

"I wouldn't do that."  
"What are you going to do to me missy? Wet my shoes with your tears?"  
"No," Kelsi replies plainly, "I'm going to make your eardrums bleed."

The guy laughs at that and steps closer to Kelsi. She pulls the trigger and Chad can_ see_ the wave of sound that emerges from her gun, but he can't hear it. By the looks of things though, the guy definitely can because he's on the ground clutching his ears. The gun stops emitting noise and Kelsi smacks the guy on the head with her tuning fork.

"Hmm . . . Just as I thought. You were really out of tune. Well, maybe now you'll hear the words I'm saying: leave my friend alone or next time I really _will_ make your eardrums bleed."  
The guy spits, "Fine, but don't think this is the last you've seen of me. I'll get you for this someday . . . Just you wait. When you least expect it, I'll get you!"  
"We'll be ready," Troy grins, "don't you worry."

* * *

After they delivered the guy to the local jail, the Wildcats piled onto the S.S. Brownball and headed back toward the Flying Circus. Chad mostly avoided Ryan for the simple reason that they were likely to never see each other again and he_ really_ didn't want to have to deal with emotional trauma.

Ryan found him anyway, on the last day of their trip.

"There you are. I've been looking for you."  
"I've been around."  
"You've been avoiding me."  
". . . Not really."  
"Which means yes."  
". . . Maybe."

There is a silence during which all the things that Chad wants to says start bubbling to the surface and he's about to start confessing everything he can think of when, without permission, Ryan is threading his fingers through Chad's hair and pressing their lips together. When they part, Ryan smiles.

"You should come visit the circus sometime."

And then, before Chad has a real chance to process what Ryan has just said, Ryan is walking out onto the deck and climbing up the mast again.

* * *

**Postit-Notes:** idek man. I think I confused "steampunk" with "western" somewhere along the line maybe. And then I made up a lot of words.


End file.
